Then he found, among other letters awaiting him, one in a long, dainty envelop addressed in English and Japanese. He knew it was from Purple-Eyes before he opened it. It was seven months old.
As he read, all her little tricks of inflection came back -upon him. He knew that her long white hands were waving emphases at him—very gently. The questioning which her eyes had learned after his coming—as if she were not quite sure of something—was upon him out of the shadows beyond the lamp. The subtle aromas which always exhaled from her garments were distinct enough to startle him. He looked quickly back and about the room. Then he laughed softly. But his face had flushed, and gladness had lit his eyes. The fever Japonica was once more in his veins—and it was his own room—and America with only her pictured face (fallen from the envelop) before him—herself on the other side of the world. Unconsciously he read aloud—in her voice and manner.
"That is ledder from me, Miss PurpleEyes, unto you, Mister J. F. Garland. That is nize day in Japan. I lig if you hoarry soon coming at Japan 'nother time. You
